The Salve of Forgiveness
by SereneCalamity
Summary: Jace hated everything. Above all else, he hated himself. Clace. Oneshot


_Hey! So this oneshot was based around a request from one my faves on here,_ reppinda5o3. _The quote was 'If scars are for the living then I could be forgiven' from the Broods song_ Taking You There.

 _Disclaimer: I do not own the characters._

For a long time, Jace Herondale hated _everything_.

He hated his father.

He hated his mother.

He hated his cousins and his uncle and aunt.

He hated his job.

He hated the Clave.

He hated the people he worked with.

He hated the Downworlders who seemed to kill without mercy.

He hated the Shadowhunters who viewed themselves as better than everyone else.

And, above all else, he hated himself.

He hated his father for treating him like a weapon, for training him like a soldier, rather than treating him like a child. He showed him no compassion, no empathy, _no love_. Stephen Herondale had been hard, and he expected Jace to be the same. When he wasn't, when Jace let him down, when he faltered or second guessed himself or didn't fight hard enough, he would be punished for that, and he still had the scars across his back to prove it.

He hated that his mother had been weak, and had left him with his horrible, abusive father when he was just six years old, too young to defend himself.

He hated that Alexander and Isabelle Lightwood could keep themselves separated; their work life and their personal life. Alec even had a relationship with a Downworlder, and Jace didn't understand it, because he had read about the things that Magnus Bane had done, and he didn't understand how Alec could move past that. And Isabelle was involved with a vampire, admittedly a very young vampire, who hadn't killed anyone, but they had all seen the things that vampires were capable of.

He hated his aunt and uncle, Maryse and Robert Lightwood, who must have known what he was going through with Stephen, but they had never tried to save him, or take him away from his father. He also hated them for their role that they had in the Shadowhunter hierarchy.

He hated his job, which consisted of getting orders and then carrying them out, like a robot, or a slave. He hated how good he _was_ at his job, and that that was pretty much all he was good at; hunting, hurting, killing.

He hated how impartially the Clave could act, passing down orders, calling for executions, choosing to snuff out a life with a simple flick of their fingers over a keypad. He hated that they sent those orders down the line, never carrying out the deed themselves, choosing to keep their hands free of blood and putting that on someone elses head.

He hated the people that he worked with, both the Shadowhunters along with the mundanes who served a purpose. They were either damaged, like him, and seemed to be able to turn off their humanity easily, killing without remorse, or they were under this impression that what they were doing was for the _greater good_ , and he probably hated them the most. He hated that some of them acted as though they understood him, that they could be friends or lovers with him, touching his shoulders and his face, trying to make him laugh or talk about what was going through his mind.

He hated the Downworlders who made him a necessary evil. He knew that not all of them were horrible, heartless beings, but he had seen too many innocent families ripped apart by werewolves who were out of control, and children drained of blood by vampires who were driven crazy by blood lust, and warlocks who played with the minds of others around them just so they could _have fun_.

He hated the Shadowhunters around him, and that self righteousness that they carried themselves with, as though they were actually doing something right. They acted as though they were so _above it all,_ not as bad as the Clave, the ones who put the orders in place, but they were close.

And then there was himself.

He was a soldier, following orders, killing without mercy, destroying covens of vampires who had been peacefully co-existing with mundanes just because _one_ of them had disobeyed the accords. He knew that there must be something wrong with him, something broken deep inside; which was why his mother left, why his father never loved him, why he didn't care that his whole purpose for being alive was to destroy, and why he had never loved anyone before.

But then she came along.

She proved that he wasn't as broken and horrible and as monstrous as he thought.

Clarissa Morgenstern was the daughter of two high council members, two Shadowhunters who had a name that was even more important than the Herondale or the Lightwood name.

Morgenstern struck fear into the hearts of Downworlders just by the very whisper, but the first time that Jace saw Clary, he knew that she was different.

It had been some big secret that Valentine and Jocelyn Morgenstern even had a second child. They had had a son, Jonathon Morgenstern, years ago, born a few years before Jace. Jonathon had been kidnapped by a group of mercenaries known as The Circle, and he had been killed when he was just six years old when Valentine wouldn't hand over the Soul Sword. The story was known to all Shadowhunters, how the incredible, brave, selfless Valentine and his wife Jocelyn had been so dedicated to the Clave that they had given up their only child.

Jace had hated them as well, added them to his list.

They sounded like horrible, heartless people.

But then it had turned out that they had another daughter, one that had only been a year old when Jonathon died, one that they had chosen to hide away. She had been kept hidden with a warlock that had been friends with her family for years. That was until it got out, it was still undetermined _how_ it got out, and then Clary was suddenly Shadowhunter royalty. People were asking about her, showing up at her art classes and the warlocks apartment where she lived, making a big deal over the poor teenager who had never wanted anything to do with this world. And because of that, because of the Shadowhunters, the Downworlders suddenly took note, and there were murmurs that they were going to attack.

Jace had been tasked with taking her away.

The first day, they didn't talk. She was silent on the plane ride to Russia, her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands clasped around them, her chin resting on one knee. He had wondered if it was because she didn't know what kind of world she truly came from, but later on he found out that she did. She even had an angelic power rune on her hip. She was well trained in defensive martial arts, she had a good knowledge of the Shadowhunters and the Downworlders, and yet somehow, she managed to remain untouched by it all. Separate.

The second day, she asked for his name.

The third day, she offered to make him dinner.

She was beautiful, and she was loving, and she was kind.

In the weeks that they spent together, she touched his shoulder or his arm, movements that she probably didn't even think of, but that were gentle and kind and things that he hadn't felt before. He had only been touched when he was in a fight or training to be in a fight, or when he was being pointed in what direction to aim, or beaten by his father, when he had done something wrong. There had been the times when he had fucked someone as well, but he switched himself off during that.

But here was Clary, touching him, smiling at him, talking to him _like he deserved it_ , like he hadn't done a hundred awful things that couldn't be forgiven. She acted as though she wanted to be around him, and with the way she spoke, the way she cooked for him as though she enjoyed it, and playfully teased him when he moved, saying that he was going to mess up the sketch she was doing of him—he believed her.

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to get tired of him, for her to see him for what he really was. He knew he should tell her—tell her that she was worth so much more than him, tell her that whatever she thought she saw in him, she was wrong—but he was selfish. He wanted to treasure as many of these moments as he could.

After a month and a half—just over six weeks, they were called back to the New York Institute. Apparently the threat had been eliminated, and Jace was to return to active duty, while Clary could go about her life, just needing to take care that she was keeping her head down. Clary had nodded, and he could see that she was relieved to be getting back to her normal, every day life, going back to University and getting to be with her friends again.

But as Jace was walking her out, she surprised him again for the umpteenth time. She told him that if he didn't text her at least once a day, and meet her for coffee at least once every few weeks, she would hunt his ass down. Then she had kissed him on the cheek and hugged him, like it was completely normal, and left the New York Institute with a smile and a wave.

There had been blatant looks of surprise from others in the building, and Jace had glared at them.

Jace really hadn't expected Clary to _actually_ want anything to do with him from that point on. He thought that had just been the sentimental last words, grateful that he had kept her safe. But she expected daily texts, and every few days she would even call him. The first time they met for coffee, Jace had been hesitant, thinking that the calm and the sweetness that he had seen in those weeks when they were away was all just a temporary thing. It wasn't, because when she showed up, with her red hair bouncing and her green eyes glowing, and a smudge of glittery gold paint on her cheek, her smile lit up the whole cafe and Jace's heart actually felt as though it had doubled in size and was beating so fast that he was sure everyone in the tables around could hear.

It didn't matter that Jace didn't really have anything to say—which she had gotten used to—and so she kept the conversation going, talking about her best friend Bartholomew Velasquez and all his girl trouble, and then how her classes were going, and about the movie that she had seen in the weekend.

Jace didn't even realize that two hours had passed until he checked his phone and saw a text from the Institute, demanding he come back. He was pretty sure he had never resented the people he worked for more than in _that_ moment.

Clary had looked disappointed that he had to go, and she had given him a lingering hug before he had left.

It carried on like that, until it was a weekly thing, unless he was away on an assignment. And even when he was away, Clary would ring him and send him adorable pictures via Snapchat, an app that he would never have even wasted his time on if Clary hadn't said that she wanted some way to see his face when he wasn't around. The little pout she had made was adorable and made Jace feel _warm_ inside, which he really wasn't used to.

The first time that Clary had kissed him, he had been completely caught off guard that he hadn't kissed her back. As soon as she had pulled away, Jace regretted not returning the pressure, and he was worried that she was going to be put off, that she would think that he wasn't interested in her—which couldn't be further from the truth! But Clary had just given him a small, understanding smile, and pressed another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and rubbed her nose gently against his, before leaning back into the couch that they had claimed in the corner of the coffee shop, and resumed talking about a young warlock that Dot had taken in, named Madzie.

It wasn't that Jace hadn't kissed other people, because he definitely had.

It's just, it had never been something he had really wanted to do. He had sex because it was something that he needed, to get off, and when having sex, girls would usually want to kiss. He could definitely do without that part, because it was a bit more intimate than he was willing to get, but he put up with it, because it was something that girls seemed to crave.

But he _liked_ when Clary did it.

He was more prepared the second time.

And the third.

Jace was still waiting for it to all end. He felt as though he was forever on edge, like he couldn't quite enjoy how good the present was, because he kept waiting for Clary to be done.

He didn't know how much she knew about what he did.

He didn't know if she knew he hurt others.

He didn't know if she knew he _killed_ others.

He didn't know if she realized that while she had a foot in both worlds—the Shadowhunter one and the mundane one—Jace was fully entrenched in just one, and that was all he had ever known.

He also didn't want to tell her, because he never wanted her to to leave.

Whatever it was that was happening between them had been happening for nearly a year when Jace had to go on a mission that kept him away for nearly a month. It was high profile, and even the Morgensterns had come into New York to help oversee the mission along with the head of the Institute. Jace vaguely wondered if they were going to be seeing Clary while they were in town, or if they were completely about business, but then he didn't really have time to be thinking about that or her, because he was being shipped out, along with Alec and Isabelle.

When Jace came back to New York, he felt drained and he was hurt and his mind flickered toward Clary as he was finally released from the briefing room, but he didn't want her to see him like this. He had barely been able to reply to any of her messages, and even though he hadn't replied to any of her snapchats, being able to get snippets of her beautiful face had made things so much easier.

Jace winced as he took the elevator up to where his room was, moving carefully as he left the elevator to walk down the hallway. Isabelle had told him that he should head to the med bay, which was where Alec was going right after they had finished the briefing, but he just wanted to be by himself. He went to his room and firmly shut the door, taking out his steele and drawing quick rune to make sure the door was sealed shut and there was no chance of him being interrupted, and only then did he let out a shaky, pained breath.

He had lost count of how many times he had been hit, in the ribs, in the stomach, in the face, in the back of the legs. He was used to it, and a couple of runes would help to get rid of the physical injuries and ease the pain, but sometimes he liked to keep the pain, hold onto it.

Made him feel something, which was better than nothing.

Admittedly, though, he had been feeling all sorts of things, but that wasn't something he really needed to think about now. Maybe tomorrow he could, because they had been given the rest of the week off, a thanks for ditching their lives here in New York to track down a pack of rabid werewolves that were making their way across Russia for the past month.

Jace stripped out of his clothes, dumped them in the wicker basket in the corner of the room, grabbed a clean pair of clothes to change into and then going into the adjoining bathroom. He turned the shower on, spinning the tap all the way around so that the temperature of the water was scalding and then he stepped inside. He winced, clenching his teeth together as the water soaked through his hair and sluiced down his back, over the fresh wounds as well as the older scars. He didn't know how long he stayed in the shower, his arms braced against the tiles of the wall in front of him, taking in deep breaths, eyes closed, as his body eventually numbed under the constant burn of the water.

When Jace got out, he scrubbed a towel over his head, the wet strands clinging to his forehead and his neck, and then slung the towel around his hips as he moved to stand in front of the mirror. It was all steamed up from the shower, and he lifted a hand to wipe it across the glass, and then nearly jumped when he saw a reflection that he hadn't been expecting.

"Shit," Jace grunted as he turned around and Clary was standing in the doorway. There was a small frown on her face, a wrinkle between her eyebrows as she stared at him, her eyes flickering over his exposed torso. "What are you doing here?" Jace asked, hoping to cover up for how vulnerable he felt right now, naked except for the towel around his waist, all the scars and bruises and wounds on his upper body exposed.

"My mum called me," Clary replied. "She knew that I had been missing you, and she promised that she would let me know when you were back. She also said that you took a pretty bad beating, and might want someone to talk to." Jace's eyes widened slightly at that, surprised at the answer. Jocelyn Morgenstern hadn't struck him as someone who was sentimental or caring, but then again, he only knew her because of reputation and from a distance.

"Uh, I'm fine," Jace muttered, clearing his throat. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before." Clary didn't look surprised, and she didn't look repulsed by the scars littering his skin and bruises that were blooming, nasty, dark blues and purple hues.

"Put on some pants," Clary told him. "And then I'll help."

"I can do it—"

"I'll help," Clary repeated, her voice firm as she disappeared back into his bedroom. Jace was confused, but he didn't waste time toweling himself off and grabbing a pair of briefs and sweatpants that were folded and waiting for him to put on. Jace hung up his towel on a hook behind the door and came out into the bedroom. Clary was sitting on the the edge of his bed, and she looked up as he came into the room. It was then that he looked toward his door.

"Wait—how did you even get in here?" Jace asked curiously.

"My parents are two of the most powerful Shadowhunters around and I was raised by a warlock," Clary raised an eyebrow as she slid off the bed and faced him. Jace's eyebrows came together as he watched her approach him. She pulled a steele out of her back pocket, holding it up in front of him, proving that she had used it to break the seal he had put on the door. It was almost identical to his own one, although the patterns etched into the grip were different, more delicate. "You didn't think I was completely defenseless, did you?" There was a slight teasing edge to her tone.

"No, but..." Jace shrugged a shoulder, ignoring the ache in his joint. "I didn't know if you were fully aware of what...What we did." Clary stared at him for a moment before she put the steele back in the pocket of her jeans and then turned back to him.

"Of course I am," Clary murmured, stepping into his space, resting a hand carefully on his chest. There was a long gash that Isabelle had carefully stitched up for him on their way back to the Institute, but Clary was careful not to rest her full weight against it. "I know everything you do." Jace swallowed hard.

"Everything?" He repeated back hoarsely.

"Everything," Clary nodded her head once. "I talked to mum and dad about you a few months ago, and they let me read your files," she pursed her lips together and cast her eyes downward and Jace squared his jaw, waiting for her to tell him that she was disgusted by what he had done, or even worse, _scared_ of him. But when she looked back up at him, she just had a guilty look in her eyes. "I'm sorry I went behind your back," she murmured. "It's just...Whenever I asked how you were or anything about your job, you never wanted to talk about it, and I just...I wanted to know. I want to know everything about you, Jace, but you wouldn't let me in."

"I didn't—" Jace cleared his throat as Clary's other hand came up to rest on his shoulder, two of her fingers over one of the more gnarly scars that he had, an ugly twist of skin just beside his collarbone, from when he had attacked a demon a few years ago. He took in a shaky breath as he turned his head to the side, watching her fingers gently brush over the scar before looking back at Clary, his eyes tentative. "I didn't want you to be scared of me," he dropped his eyes again at the words, not wanting to see her face as he uttered the statement that could potentially ruin the most beautiful, most incredible thing that he had ever had in his life.

Clary didn't say anything for a long moment, but after a few seconds, she let her fingers trail over his collarbone, then skim over his throat and Adam's apple, and then around his neck, cupping her hand and tangling her fingers in the damp hair that was resting against the nape of his neck. She made a small noise at the back of her throat as her hand gently encouraged him to look at her.

There was nothing but love in her eyes.

"I could never be scared of you," Clary whispered. "I understand why you've done these things, and I _know_ why. And...If it's forgiveness—if that's what you need, for the things that you've done—then I can give that to you." She reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. They had now kissed countless times before, and sometimes it had even progressed a little further than that, getting heated, but Jace had never let it get past some over the clothes touching. Jace had always held himself back.

Not this time.

He lifted his hands to cup her face, holding her soft body against his muscular one—trying to hold her so tightly that she was never going to be able to move away again, but gently, so as not to hurt her. He tried to pour everything that he had into the kiss, all of the care that she had shown him, all of the warmth that she had brought into his life, all of the love that he felt for her—things that he had never known before and never thought that he would be able to feel.

When they parted—only far enough to draw in breath, their foreheads resting together and their noses bumping—Jace slowly opened his eyes, and was met with Clary's glowing green ones looking right back at him. His lips twitched, curving upward in a smile that made Clary let out a shaky breath and grasp him tighter, pulling him back in for another breathless kiss.

For the first time, in as long as Jace could remember, he knew that hate wasn't the only thing that filled him.

There was hope.

There was forgiveness.

There was love.

 _Let me know what you think x_


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